


Keep and Protect

by Morninglight (orphan_account)



Series: Commander and Commanded [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Biting, Canonical Character Death, Evil Muse, F/M, Grief/Mourning, I'm Sorry, Light Dom/sub, Obedience, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, shaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 21:08:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6255919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Morninglight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The synth had to die and it was by his hand because he asked too much of the woman he loved. What was his, he would keep and protect, and that included her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep and Protect

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing! Trigger warnings for death, shaming, mentions of child soldiers and suicidal thoughts, violence and fantastic racism. AU Sparrow/Arthur smut because my muse is an evil fucker with a heart of pure malice. There’s definitely dom/sub overtones to this particular AU. Got it done, Gaqalesqua!

 

“Disgusting machine. Let this serve as an example to the Institute.”

            “It’s okay, Sparrow, it’s okay.”

            The knife. Sharp enough to wound the wind, drawn from a boot, driven up under the ribcage in one vicious stab that lifted a huge man to its tiptoes.

            “Ad V-Victoriam, brother…” The ghost of a proud smile on rugged features before dirt-brown eyes dulled forever and the fake Paladin Danse fell over sideways with a Brotherhood-issue combat knife in its gut.

            Arthur Maxson pulled the knife from the synth’s corpse and wiped it clean on the uniform it had dishonoured by dint of existence. Perhaps the machine called Danse had truly been unaware of its real nature, believed itself to be a true soldier of the Brotherhood of Steel, but the Elder couldn’t take the chance that the Institute could get its hands on critical information. Not when he had compelling reasons beyond the Codex and Litany to be ruthless in rooting out the renegade scientists and their technological abominations.

            One of those reasons made a choked noise, perhaps of horror or betrayal, when he turned to her. Sparrow Finlay was bone-pale, the pinkish-white vitiligo around her left eye and coral-hued lips having more colour than her tanned skin, and her entire body was trembling violently. Had it been any other soldier, Maxson would have snapped at them to get it together – the revelation of a Senior Paladin as a synth had been enough to shake even the grimmest Knight – because a member of the order maintained decorum no matter what. How often had Arthur been told that as a child, before and after his mother sent him away to the Lyons?

            But Sparrow had been recruited and sponsored by Danse, literally fighting side by side with him until the final mission to acquire the nuclear payload for Liberty Prime. There were rumours about a romantic relationship between them, the two had been so close, but Arthur hadn’t considered them likely until he saw the shattered expression on the pre-War survivor’s fine-boned features.

            “I-I…” Sparrow was obviously trying to find the words to speak and Arthur supposed that if anyone was owed an explanation, it was her.

            “Doctrine aside, I can’t take the chance that the Institute could acquire the synth and get some very sensitive information on the Brotherhood,” he told her. “If they discover our plans…”

            She pressed her lips tight and nodded. Arthur knew her father had been a soldier and her husband too; present the decision to her with an appropriate military explanation and she’d look past her own sense of betrayal to the logic behind it. Sparrow was no fool, not by a long shot – it was one of the reasons why he was so attracted to her.

            He’d sent Sparrow to confront the synth, knowing that she’d be able to track it. That Haylen knew where it had gone would need investigating and the Field Scribe assigned to somewhere she’d do no harm. Arthur accepted that some of the civilian staff weren’t as hardened to military necessity as the soldiers – Sparrow herself had flinched at pulling the trigger on a machine that she perceived as a friend, after all. That was why he’d followed her.

            It had died well, though. Perhaps the personality within was loyal to the Brotherhood.

            The Knight drew herself up, lifting her chin with a quiet pride in her doe-brown gaze. “I accept any punishment for being unable to carry out your orders,” she said hoarsely. “I… couldn’t pull the trigger. I saw a friend and wanted to save him… it.”

            “I’m disappointed,” Arthur admitted quietly and noted her cheeks were flushed and eyes downcast now. “But I also expected it. I did, however, know you’d find it and hence I followed.”

            The silence extended as he pondered what next to say. He wanted to know if she’d loved the synth, a bond it no doubt encouraged – Arthur had seen the gazes that Danse had bestowed on Sparrow when it thought he wouldn’t notice – but he knew that asking that question now might break her loyalty to the Brotherhood. The Elder wouldn’t allow that. He kept and protected what was his and whether she knew it or not, that included Sparrow Finlay.

            “You’re confined to the Prydwen for two weeks unless you’re fulfilling duties for the Proctors and then, you’re still confined to the Airport,” he finally said.

            “Yes, Elder Maxson,” Sparrow replied hoarsely, saluting.

            Arthur picked up the synth’s corpse, grunting at the deadweight. “Get on the vertibird.”

            She obeyed, moving almost mechanically, and he followed suit. As the vertibird took off, he wondered if there was any hope of her returning his feelings.

…

Sparrow had failed at the most important test and proven herself weak Steel. The cold glint in Arthur’s eyes as he announced his disappointment – and lack of surprise at her being unable to execute Danse – had told her plenty.

            But seeing her friend willing to die had weakened Sparrow’s resolve and she’d decided to let Danse flee instead. It never occurred to her that Shaun and the Institute could have killed Danse and learned everything he knew, even after taking a walk through Conrad Kellogg’s memories with just a bit of metal and the hippocampus remaining.

            She stared stonily out of the vertibird’s open entrance, assigned to the bench because unless she was in power armour, she was incapable of handling a mini-gun without falling off the aircraft. Arthur stood there, stalwart and stern, and gunned down super mutants easily.

            He should just throw her out of the Brotherhood or even lock her in the brig. She’d failed him when he needed her the most – and he’d known that she would.

            Sparrow closed her eyes and hung her head in misery, tears falling down her cheeks for both the friend she’d lost and the dishonour she’d brought on the Brotherhood.

            They returned to the Prydwen and Arthur picked up Danse’s corpse, presumably for Quinlan and Cade to dissect. “Report to Proctor Teagan,” he barked.

            “Yes, Elder.” Sparrow disembarked from the vertibird and saluted before turning away.

            “Knight?” His flat tone stopped her in her tracks.

            “Yes, Elder?”

            “Why the tears?”

            Sparrow gave him half the truth. “Because I failed you.”

            Arthur sucked in a sharp breath, emotion flashing in his gas-blue eyes, and nodded gravely. “Wipe your cheeks. You don’t want anyone thinking you were crying for a synth.”

            She obeyed, feeling that intent stare upon her, and scurried away when he nodded.

            Sparrow put her weapons and combat armour in her personal locker before reporting to Teagan, who wordlessly pointed to the mop and bucket. Janitorial duties – grunt work generally used as punishment detail for those who’d failed just short of being charged and thrown into the brig down at Cambridge Police Station.

            By the time she was allowed to get some food from the mess hall, she’d mopped the entire storage hold and power armour bay, with everyone knowing that she’d fucked up big time. Putting two and two together wasn’t hard for the Initiates and when she grabbed a bowl of noodles from the Mess Knight-Sergeant, the whispers of contempt and pity were a constant in her wake.

            Sparrow ate her tasteless meal, washed it down with purified water, and trudged to the communal showers. Hot water and soap hid the tears in her eyes as it was late enough in the night for most of the staff to be in their beds. Tomorrow, she got to clean down Danse’s power armour for the next Paladin to use. It would likely be Rhys, who was second in command of Recon Squad Gladius.

            _“It’s okay, Sparrow, it’s okay…”_

Until today she didn’t even know that he’d loved her.

            Until today, she didn’t realise how much Arthur’s opinion meant to her. Yes, she’d admitted (silently) her attraction to the blisteringly charismatic commander but seeing that coldly condemnatory gaze made her understand the depth of her feelings for the man.

            And now Sparrow had fucked up almost to the point of treason.

            She pulled on the t-shirt and loose pants she wore to sleep and trudged to her bed. Tomorrow was going to be an absolutely filthy and lousy day with little respite.

…

“I’ll give her this. Not one peep or tear. I’ve seen veteran Knights crack under that level of shame.”

            Arthur was walking through the power armour bay towards the armoury when he overheard Lancer-Captain Kells and Proctor Ingram talking.

            “Finlay’s a hell of a soldier with incredible strength of will. I’ve been watching her – she knows she failed Elder Maxson when she didn’t execute that fucking synth. She’ll take the punishment to heart. But she won’t crack because that woman’s already had the worst that the Commonwealth can throw at her.”

            Ingram sighed. “I thought it was… harsh… of the Elder to send her, honestly. Danse brought Sparrow into the Brotherhood and gave her a purpose. Asking her to kill her mentor was a bit much after all she’s been through.”

            “But she was the only one who could track Danse because she knew how it thought. How better to test her loyalty?” Kells was adamant. “Though, she probably flinched because they were lovers. It likely played on her loneliness deliberately.”

            “They weren’t lovers. Danse loved her but she was oblivious to it.” Ingram shifted, her power frame whirring with the movement. “Still, you’re probably right on the rest. She didn’t fail in loyalty – she stood by and watched the Elder execute the synth after all. Finlay just couldn’t bring herself to pull the trigger.”

            “True,” Kells agreed. “Failure of conviction then. Regrettable and dangerous, but taking her out of the field should remedy that problem.”

            “Always thought she’d make a better Scribe,” Ingram observed. “I’ll put that in my report to the Elder on her punishment.”

            Arthur had confined her to the Prydwen for a couple weeks in order to give her some time and space while seeming to punish her… but Sparrow and the Proctors had interpreted it as shaming, the worst punishment short of the brig, and acted accordingly.

            Yet if he backtracked on the matter, his reputation for firm but fair treatment would be shattered and he’d lose much of his authority amongst rank and file alike.

            He took a deep breath, thought for a moment, and deliberately stepped out into full view. “You’re both correct,” he noted. “In light of Knight Finlay’s exemplary conduct under punishment that was brought about in part because I put her in a difficult position, I’m commuting it to simple confinement on the Prydwen and at the Airport.”

            Kells and Ingram exchanged glances before the former nodded. “That works for me, Elder Maxson. Supplies are going missing and I need someone of Finlay’s investigative capabilities to track the leak down. I don’t doubt her loyalty, just…”

            “For all her success in the field, Knight Finlay isn’t a hardened veteran and I lost sight of that because of her exemplary service,” Arthur finished. It always helped to admit a mistake. “I sent her, alone and unaided, to confront a machine that had deceived her into thinking it was her friend because I knew she could find it where we couldn’t. That was unfair when the Brotherhood of Steel never sends its soldiers to face monsters alone.”

            Hopefully word would get back to Sparrow and she’d understand this wasn’t entirely her fault.

            “As for the reassignment, Ingram, I’ll think about it. Knight Finlay does have better knowledge and contacts than us when it comes to the Commonwealth.” After all, the woman had arranged for a network of settlements to supply the Prydwen with resources that allowed for fair trade and no undue burden on any one settlement.

            “Teagan wants to marry her,” Ingram observed with a smile. “I think he’s serious too.”

            Arthur fantasised briefly about punching Teagan in the teeth.

            “If she succeeds at finding the security leak, I’ll make her Teagan’s second,” Arthur said instead. “Her main talent truly is logistics.”

            It would be perfect – procurement officers never went into the field unless accompanied with a squad of Knights. Otherwise she’d be safe and sound on the Prydwen.

            He kept what was his, kept it as safe as he could, and that included Sparrow Finlay.

            Kells nodded in satisfaction. “Got it, Elder.”

            At that moment, Sparrow entered the power armour bay from the cargo hold and Arthur blinked. The normally neat and fastidious pre-War survivor was absolutely filthy, her chestnut hair bedraggled and greasy, her uniform stained with something that reeked.

            “Good news, Knight,” Kells informed her crisply. “You’re being returned to ordinary duties for the rest of your confinement.”

            Sparrow nodded dully, keeping her eyes downcast. Shame was etched into every line of her posture and Arthur couldn’t bear the sight.

            “Straighten up, soldier,” he said harshly. “You’ve carried yourself well this past week.”

            She squared her shoulders and raised her chin, though her eyes wouldn’t meet his.

            “What the hell where you cleaning?”

            “Senior Scribe Neriah’s mole rat cages, Elder,” Sparrow replied.

            “Oh, for… Have a shower, woman, then report to my office for a debriefing. You can report to Kells tomorrow because he has a duty for you.”

            Sparrow nodded mutely and saluted. He inclined his head, watching the reeking woman take off.

            He’d failed in his duty of care to her as commander. By the Steel, she must hate him at the moment.

            But what Arthur kept, he protected, and that included Sparrow Finlay.

…

It took three scrubbings with the harsh soap concocted by the Scribes before Sparrow no longer reeked of mole rat. She pulled on clean underwear and a fresh uniform, gave her hair a quick dry with the towel before pulling it back into a tight bun, and headed directly to Arthur’s office – which was also in his quarters – without stopping to get some food. The Elder had shown some compassion in commuting her punishment and she… wanted to prove that she could follow orders.

            “Close the door,” Arthur ordered when she arrived, his coat lying on the bed and his back to her.

            Sparrow obeyed and he turned around. When she lowered her gaze, unable to meet his vivid blue eyes, he strode over, placed two fingers under her chin and lifted it. “You have _no_ reason to lower your eyes,” he rasped. “ _You_ failed in your duty because _I_ failed you as a commander.”

            “Elder…?”

            “I should have gone with you once you had the location,” Arthur continued, fingers still under her chin. “But I sent you, alone and unaided, to face the machine that convinced us all it was a friend.”

            He blamed himself. God. “I told him he should leave the Commonwealth,” she admitted, tears blurring her eyes. He’d despise her now. But better that than blaming himself for not seeing the danger a Gen-3 synth could pose if the Institute got their hands on him. “I didn’t think, even after getting dragged through the memories of the psychopath who murdered Nate and stole Shaun, about how his brain would contain a wealth of sensitive information. I failed, Elder Maxson, not you.”

            _“It,”_ he corrected flatly. “But as for the rest of it… Perhaps Danse _was_ loyal to the Brotherhood. But I couldn’t risk it falling into the Institute’s hands. Not when I have people and things to protect.”

            “He was going to kill himself,” Sparrow confessed. “I talked him out of it. I… was going to lie. He was my friend and I…”

            She just admitted to treason in the Brotherhood’s eyes. Nate was dead, Shaun was a monster and the man she might love probably despised her thoroughly by now.

            Arthur’s eyes burned. “Did you love it?”

            “No!” The denial burst from her lips, her tone offended despite the seriousness of her actions. “I love-“

            No, she couldn’t admit that. Not when she’d betrayed him and the Brotherhood because she’d put her compassion above tactical common sense.

            _“Who?”_ Arthur rasped. His eyes weren’t just burning now, they were almost glowing against his sun-browned skin.

            She surrendered her last secret to him. If he passed judgment, he should at least know the truth. “You. And I failed you and the Brotherhood.”

            “You let your compassion get ahead of your good sense because I wasn’t there to protect you,” he said roughly. “That won’t happen again.”

            And he kissed her, arms wrapping around her body until she was pressed up against his powerful frame. His tongue plunged into her mouth with more enthusiasm than skill but Sparrow moaned. She was dreaming this, right?

            When they broke apart, Arthur was panting, eyes scorching. “If I’d known you cared for me as much as I care for you, I would have done that a lot sooner,” he said.

            “I was always attracted but didn’t realise until after… the listening post what I felt for you,” she confessed.

            “I didn’t mean for you to be shamed,” Arthur said. “You… handled it well.”

            Sparrow shrugged. “I’d failed. I-“

            He kissed her again before his hands slid down to her ass. “ _Enough_ , woman. It is done and the synth is dead. We will avenge your husband and son.”

            “Yes, Elder,” she said contritely.

            “In this room, I am Arthur,” he corrected.

            “Yes, Arthur.” She looked up at him, daring to reach out with her hand and touch the puckered curve of his scar, the soft coarseness of his beard. He tilted his head a little, leaning into the caress, and ground his hips against her belly.

            Sparrow reached down with her other hand and cupped his erection through his officer’s uniform. A little bolder than she usually was but the groan that came from those full, downturned lips was its own reward.

            _“Fuck.”_ The curse was hoarse and coarse yet still managed to sound reverent. Arthur’s hips snapped forward twice before he clenched his fists, taking a deep strangled breath. Sparrow released him and he groaned in disappointment.

            His eyes scorched her to the core as she grabbed the ring-pull of her uniform and began to slowly tug it down. Arthur was young, possibly inexperienced (if not a virgin) and-

            He sucked in a sharp breath as the curves of her breasts, encased in soft worn cotton, were revealed. Then he removed his hands from her hips and brought them to her shoulders before tugging the sleeves of her uniform down – along with her bra straps – to trap her arms against her body.

            His next movement tore the strap that connected the front of her bra, letting the soft mounds fall free, and Sparrow hissed at the ache that came from removing a bra at the end of the day.

            Arthur stopped, worried. “Sparrow…?” he asked uncertainly.

            “It’s alright,” she said as the ache passed. “Just always happens when breasts aren’t supported by a bra anymore.”

            His fingers immediately curved around each breast and she moaned, arching into his gentle grip. Arthur’s index fingers and thumbs immediately curled around the nipples that hardened in the chill air.

            “These are lovely,” he murmured, giving them a soft squeeze. “I think I’m going to suck on them because I can.”

            And he proceeded to do so.

…

She loved him and was punishing herself because she felt she’d failed him.

            Arthur had deliberately trapped Sparrow’s arms with the sleeves of her uniform and though she didn’t realise it, he’d moved her to the foot of his bed as he sucked on her breasts, leaving red marks on the rosy flesh and leaving the nipples reddish-pink from his attentions. That she’d wanted to save that fucking machine was unsurprising – when it came to her friends, Sparrow had a big heart that overrode her common sense.

            He’d done this a time or two but never with a woman he loved. Part of Arthur wanted to leave his mark on Sparrow, to let her and the world know who she belonged to, and another wanted to soothe her tears and fears.

            Beneath his lips, the flesh of her belly was soft, the skin wrinkled from childbirth. Arthur kissed her navel before looking up at her expression.

            Parted lips, half-lidded eyes that were opening, a mixture of worry and arousal in the rich brown orbs. “Arthur…?”

            Husky, warm and sweet as the whiskey he kept in his quarters. She shifted on her feet, the cups of her tattered bra hanging from the straps halfway down her arms with the sleeves of her uniform, and he just watched her for a moment to appreciate the view. Then he reached out to pull her hair from its customary bun, letting the chestnut-brown locks fall past her shoulders to the middle of her back. It completely changed her appearance – it made her doe eyes bigger and softened the lines of grief on her face.

            “I’ve only done this twice before,” he confessed.

            Sparrow tilted her head. “Do you want me to take the lead?”

            “God, no.” He… didn’t follow anyone’s lead well. Even Sparrow’s. “Just tell me what you like.”

            “I need my clitoris stimulated to climax,” she admitted. “Otherwise, proceed as you see fit.”

            Arthur found a somewhat sardonic smile curving his lips. “What if that was me bending you over the end of the bed and fucking the hell out of you while I bit your shoulder to mark you as mine?”

            Sparrow sucked in her breath and her eyes darkened. “Yes…”

            Everything that was primal and possessive roared to the fore, making Arthur’s uniform too tight. He practically tore it off as Sparrow disrobed herself carefully, folding the ruined bra and setting it aside. The commander part of him pointed out that she’d almost committed treason by conspiring to save the machine, even though the rest of him knew that he’d should have accompanied her to hunt it down. “Knight?”

            The sudden change in tone made her pause; instinctively, she folded an arm across her breasts as her underpants were still on. He needed to get her something better than that dingy cotton that likely came from some pre-War cache. “Yes, Elder?”

            “Unless there’s an urgent need for your presence, you’re not going into the field until the Institute is destroyed,” he rasped. “Your loyalty isn’t in doubt, but your conviction is.”

            Her face flickered. “I’m not a very good soldier. If it wasn’t for the presence of…”

            So Danse _had_ been carrying her through the missions. Arthur recalled that when she hunted down the Institute agent Kellogg, a mercenary had accompanied her.

            “I’m going to let your lapse in judgment pass because you were obviously assigned to the wrong rank,” he said hoarsely. “In that, I failed you.”

            She nodded mutely and he relaxed, going from Elder Maxson to Arthur again. “This won’t be discussed again,” he rasped. “I don’t want to hear that fucking machine’s name from your mouth.”

            “Yes, Arthur.”

            Thank the Steel he’d made certain his air vents had good sound baffles. He could forgive Sparrow privately for her mislaid compassion, but if news ever got out, the Proctors would call for her to be thrown in the brig at the very least. Which would ruin the future he wanted with this woman.

            Arthur’s kiss was perhaps harsher than it should have been but Sparrow moaned, her lips parting so he could plunder her mouth. He wanted to kiss her until the lips were swollen but if it became known that he’d commuted her sentence and then fucked her…

            It would definitely affect his credibility with the older Brotherhood commanders.

            He settled for tearing off her underpants as he had her bra. If it wasn’t for the fact he knew she’d chafe and ache in her uniform, he’d command her to go without it.

            Before he dropped her torn panties, he felt the wetness of the cloth, saw the glisten of her slick on her thighs. She wanted this. By the Steel…

            “Like being commanded, don’t you?” he asked hoarsely. “Imagined me bending you over the couch in the viewport, your ass in the air, the great Elder Maxson fucking you silly.”

            Sparrow’s eyes blazed. “I’d prefer _Arthur_ Maxson fucking me silly.”

            Right thing to say. He growled at the obscenity falling readily from her lips and spun her around. He was going to fuck out the memory of that synth, even if she’d never loved it or even slept with it so far as he knew, and fill her mind with him and all he could do to her.

…

He was rough and possessive and fuck she needed that.

            Sparrow felt the foot-rail of Arthur’s bed dig into her stomach as he spread her legs by simply shoving one of his thick thighs between them, momentarily rubbing the hard muscle against her slit.

            She bucked, stifling her moan with a fist to her mouth, and Arthur chuckled. “I have good sound baffles,” he murmured. “I value my privacy.”

            Her emotions had switched from humiliation to shame to self-loathing to disbelief that he loved her too to desire and all through the gamut again. Now, as he thrust into her with one sharp snap of his hips, all she felt was the need to be fucked senseless and forget about the last week or so.

            _“Fuck.”_ Arthur paused, leaning over her back, sweaty muscles slick against her skin. He was thick and heavy – not too long but enough – and the burn of him felt good inside her. “You’ll keep nothing from me, Sparrow. Not anymore.”

            “Yes, Arthur,” she readily agreed.

            “What’s mine, I keep and protect it,” he rasped. “That includes you.”

            Thank God, no more making life-changing decisions. Sparrow… wasn’t a leader. Not one the Wasteland needed, anyway.

            Arthur began to thrust and the rest of her introspections fell away at the feel of that thick cock inside her, his thighs hitting her buttocks with every lunge, the dig of the metal rail into her belly. When she dared to snake a hand down towards her clit as a subtle reminder of the only thing she asked for, he grabbed it with his own meaty paw and began to roughly finger her with the other.

            “Do you need pain?” he asked. “I’ve read that some people who…”

            Sparrow looked up over her shoulder and even though he was pounding her like a nail into a board, Arthur Maxson looked adorably red-cheeked. “No, it’s the relief of handing over command to someone else,” she admitted. “I had to manage my old life on my own after my son was born and…”

            That was a discussion she’d save for later. “…I fell apart,” she finished. “Then the bombs fell and…”

            “I should have noticed,” he confessed. “Too much was asked of you.”

            The Elder briefly returned, cold-eyed and hard-faced. “It won’t happen again.”

            So many people needed the Elder to command them – or were enchanted with the Maxson name – that Arthur had grown wary of them. Sparrow needed Arthur, she realised on the edge of her climax, and he needed something for himself. She resolved to be that something.

            She orgasmed with a stifled cry and he pulled out, coming on her back. It wasn’t time for her to bear a child or for him to sire one.

            Maybe one day though.

            Before he let her straighten up, he bit her on the shoulder like he promised. The sharp pain and the delving of his thick fingers into her cunt startled her into another orgasm.

            “I have a shower,” Arthur murmured. “You should use it. And then report to Lancer-Captain Kells. He has a mission for you.”

            “Yes, Arthur,” she promised. “Umm, do you have safety pins for my bra and panties?”

            “Borrow a pair of my boxers,” he commanded. “I’ll see you get some better underwear.”

            “…Thank you.” She hadn’t wanted to ask Teagan, not when he had that knowing glint in his eye which made her uncomfortable.

            “Knight?” He was the Elder again, cold of voice and eye.

            “Yes, Elder Maxson?”

            “Whenever the weight of your duties overwhelms you, you will report to me. Is that clear?”

            She nodded, throat dry, and he echoed the gesture in satisfaction. “Good. Clean up and go. Take an hour or so to rest before you report to Kells. Your debriefing, after all, was intense.”

            Then he smiled, becoming Arthur again briefly. “I love you too. But you’re still too close to disgrace… and there are protocols.”

            “I understand.”

            “Good. You’re dismissed.” He turned from her and reached for his uniform, and Sparrow took the hint.

            She never saw the tender look he gave her over his shoulder. But the knowledge she was safe and cared for again buoyed her step, lightening the burden on her shoulders. Still, a small part of her grieved for Danse and what could have been, and always would.

            _It’s okay, Danse, it’s okay…_


End file.
